


Temporary Alliance

by Aryashi



Series: F.E.C.s (Fusion Enabling Chips) [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, as in an au with fusions, fusion au, of course, the natural grimmons air that exudes from Grif and Simmons existing in the same space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryashi/pseuds/Aryashi
Summary: The pirates had them out-numbered approximately a shitton to one. That was a problem, but a kind of Situation-Normal-All-Fucked-Up problem that barely registered as anything unusual anymore.(Grif and Sarge have to work together to save their team.)





	Temporary Alliance

The pirates had them out-numbered approximately a shitton to one. That was a problem, but a kind of Situation-Normal-All-Fucked-Up problem that barely registered as anything unusual anymore. 

Problem two (and the significantly bigger kick in the teeth) came in the form of a line of skittles soldiers being marched at gunpoint through a moldy licorice army of assholes; Hunched and panicking, flighty and distracted, stiff and robotic, in that order. Not shot yet. Whatever relief Grif got from Simmons, Donut, and Lopez not being dead or hurt got swiftly kicked in the balls by his brain figuring out why they would be unharmed. The pirates probably figured they could put the screws on them and squeeze out all kinds of information before offering up the husks for ransom. A trap ransom too- see previous descriptor. Pricks even took the warthog 

Problem three buzzed in the air all around them, unheard and unseen. Signal jammers fuzzed over the next ten square miles; anything more complicated than tin cans and string was beyond useless. The blob of interference was the whole reason Red Team had even come all the way out here. Kimball had asked them to check it out under the assumption it was some kind of alien strip mall in the mountains, because no way pirates where out this far into the Armies of Chorus’ ostensible territory, right? Nope. Fucking wrong. Really fucking wrong. So now they were in the enemy’s backyard with no way to radio cavalry in time to actually help. 

Problem four, the man to Grif’s right glaring over the rock ridge with murder in his eyes. Sarge seethed quietly while Grif looked on through binoculars. Quiet Sarge was always a list worthy problem, Grif could never tell what he was thinking without the helpful commentary track. 

“What’s the situation?” Sarge said. Grif waited for the typical tacked on insult, but it never came. Weird and unnerving.

“Good news is they’re all fine. Bad news is that we’ve got no warthog, no backup, no plan, no radios that work, and I ran out of chips an hour ago.”

“If you hadn’t been sneakin’ off to eat contraband this wouldn’t have happened!” Sarge yelled, sort of. A stage whisper was as loud as Sarge let himself get, but the intent was there. 

“Really. The two of us would have made a difference against half a fucking battalion. Didn’t know you thought so much of me Sarge.” 

“Your stupidity continues to shock and disappoint me Grif, even after all these years! There’s not nearly enough men to qualify for half a battalion. Maybe a third of a platoon, or double a squad if you squinted-“

“Not important! What IS important is that we’ve got nothing that could help them and no time to do anything else!”

Sarge went silent. Not cowed silence, thoughtful silence. Grif could almost see the gears turning in his head. Suddenly Grif saw Sarge’s thoughts clear as day and he almost puked in his helmet.

“Oh god I know what you’re thinking. Tell me you didn’t put a bomb in Simmons.”

“What?! No!” Sarge sounded appalled. “That wasn’t what I was thinkin’ at all!”

“Oh thank god.”

“I was thinkin…” a pause. Sarge clenched his fist, sucked in an almost comical amount of air through his nose and blew it out through his mouth. “Thinkin…”

Grif frowned. “Any day now Sarge, not like we’re on a time limit or anything.”

“I’m getting to it! This ain’t exactly easy for me! In fact this goes against everything I stand for as a red army soldier and a human being!”

“Oh come on Sarge, it can’t be  _ that- _ “

“I’m thinkin’ we fuse.”

“-bad wait WHAT.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself!”

Grif stared at Sarge. He blinked a few times like that would reboot his brain, because there was no way what he just heard was right. 

“You. And me. Fuse.”

“If you have any other bright ideas… literally any other ideas. I’ll take the stupidest plan you could come up with instead! Which we both know could be levels of stupid beyond any mortal man’s comprehension.”

Grif stared some more.

“What about a… stealth… mission?” Grif said.

“Nonsense and you know it. The enemy could hear you coming from a mile away! Not to mention a true soldier never goes for the backstab! It’s cowardly! Proper red was never meant to hide!”

Grif was pretty sure that was Sarge-ese for ‘I’m bright fucking scarlet and we have no way to dull it, the fuck do you think would happen?” Which meant he had a point. 

“… fuck.”

“Mmhm.”

“So the only way in is through the front door.”

“Yeup.”

“Fuuuuuuck this is gonna suck.”

“Not like this is gonna be a tiptoe through the tulips for me, dirtbag! Getting Grif in all my personal spaces… there won’t be enough soap on Chorus.”

“You? What about me?! For all I know your brand of delusional is contagious and I’ll come out of it believing in the sanctity of Red Army and wanting to fuck robots!”

“Just because you don’t appreciate the beauty of a diesel powered killing machine-!”

Gunshots. A violent scuffle for the binoculars revealed Simmons curled down into his knees with a bullet hole just a foot above his head. Donut scolded the soldiers while they laughed at Simmons’ fear and Lopez stared dead ahead, stone still. 

“… We gotta move,” Sarge said.

“Right.”

\---

It wasn’t like Grif and Sarge hadn’t been in the same fusion before. Red Team had all fused together a couple times, when things got really dicey and they needed the combined fire power. But a one on one fusion? Nobody else acting as a buffer? Not even once. Grif had assumed him and Sarge couldn’t even if they’d wanted to. Now it wasn’t about wanting to; it was about the mission and rescuing their team. 

The pair stood a good ten feet away from each other, trying to loosen up. Fuck why did it have to be dancing of all things? Yeah yeah, synchronizing or whatever, but randomly gyrating limbs was awkward enough on its own without merging into another person!

“You stallin, numbnuts?”

“So what if I am? Not like you’re rushing into this either!”

Sarge grunted instead of disagreeing, which meant Grif was right but Sarge didn’t want to admit it. Grif took the small victory.

“Well if you’re done getting gussied up let’s get this show on the road! We got a daring high action rescue operation to get to.”

“Urg, fine. Sooner we do this the sooner we get it over with and I can go take the longest nap ever.”

Grif remembered the instructions Red team had gotten way back when, the early days of Blood Gulch the tech was shiny, brand new, and stupidly lethally experimental. In the end most of the ‘tips and tricks’ that came with the package were garbage, but getting back to basics helped every once in a while. 

_ Step one: Close your eyes and think of the music you like dancing to most.  _

Grif skimmed through his memory like running his finger on the spines of antique CD cases and records back home. He settled on the sound of guitars and drums in bright and lived in bars, the kind him and Kai went to when the month had been good and there was money to spare. Kai would drag him out on to the dancefloor and he’d shuffle and swing along to the beat. Not exactly high energy, but it always made Kai smile.

_ “I got it! I know what you dance like! Dex, you dance like a stoned Carlton. Mystery solved, someone buy me a shot!” _

Memories of music and happier times played in Grif’s head, and his body shifted into the motions.

_ Step two: Open your eyes and approach your partner _

Grif looked at Sarge, and he could almost hear the bluegrass pounding in Sarge’s mind. He quietly clapped and bobbed to a beat so present it snuck into Grif’s own music, regimenting it and speeding it up like Kai grabbing his hands and pulling him into dancing faster. Grif ambled his way over before he lost the music or his nerve, and Sarge met him with two long on-beat strides. With a bow that Grif somehow knew to mirror the moment Sarge made it they clasped hands and…

_ Step three: Make physical contact and fusion will follow _

He blinked. They blinked?  _ He _ blinked. 

He felt… stable. That sure wasn’t what he was expectin’. Considering the ingredients in this particular fighting casserole he was surprised to last this long. But thinkin’ about this stuff seemed like asking for trouble he couldn’t afford right now, so best he dropped that train of thought down the hole he dropped most stuff not worth considerin’.

Wait… that felt oddly familiar. Why was that so familiar? There was no way Sarge/Grif had something in common with him! Unthinkable/Gross/Disturbing/Unacceptable-

Grif felt himself pulling away-Sarge felt himself pulling away-

_ NO,  _ if they lost this now they’d never get it back! 

They-  _ He  _ took a deep breath. Introspection was a bad idea (like always) so instead of belly aching he was gonna open his eyes and see what he was working with. 

Woah. Eyes. Okay. Two pairs, spread on the curve of the helmet visor, nothin’ obvious to onlookers but the wider perspective was interesting. Made sense of course, everythin’ about Grif was wider/Sarge always seemed kind of wall-eyed-

He shook it off. 

Okay, what sort of limb arrangement was he working with here… he looked down. Judging by the height of the trees he remembered and his own keen eye for detail, he stood about two warthogs/20 feet tall, which was kind of kickass. He felt sturdy, stocky, a lot of weight but a lot of muscle to move that weight around. He had two legs, four arms, two at the shoulders and two about midway through his ribs. Cut and pretty intimidating figure, if he did say so himself. 

Armor never shifted around much with fusions, generally conforming to whatever new body shape it was presented with, blending colors together, and calling it a day. Except they weren’t really blended all the way; orange and bright red were both there, sometimes merging together into a gradient that didn’t follow any pattern he could figure out. The spotty-but-not look felt mighty fine by him. 

“I’d say that’s enough vanity, seeing as there’s butt-kickin on the agenda. Now…”

He reached for the spot he kept his shotgun/rifle/weapon and pulled out a- oh. Oh ho  _ ho. _

He  _ grinned.  _ “Now this is a mighty fine badass piece of work! The guys are never gonna know what hit them in their stupid, smug, slackjaw faces.”

\---

Simmons knew a rescue was on the way. That was just a fact. So what if it was just Grif and Sarge with no backup, no vehicle, and no way to sneak in? Everything was fine. They were fine. Him and Donut were still alive, they hadn’t even shut off Lopez! So even  _ if  _ the rescue was  _ slightly  _ delayed that wasn’t a problem because clearly they were valuable enough to keep alive. For now. But their value wouldn’t matter because there was going to be a rescue! Really soon! Any second now!

“You know Simmons, hyperventilating like that is bad for your lungs.” 

“I’m not hyperventilating, you’re hyperventilating!”

“Really? Huh. I could have sworn it was you. Well, whoever it is should really cut it out for their own good. Maybe try picturing the ocean instead. That’s what I’ve been doing and let me tell you, I’m relaxed and open to whatever’s happening next.”

Even after all these years, Simmons still had no fucking clue if Donut meant exactly what he was saying or if he was screwing around. 

“ _ Estoy bastante seguro de que lo dice exactamente como lo dijo. Nadie podría fingir ser tan densa. _ (I’m pretty sure he means it exactly as he said it. No one could fake being that dense.” Lopez said.

Simmons ignored Lopez and took another look around the yard. Up close and personal the base was pretty shitty. Three temporary buildings about two steps up from tents, one tower in the center of camp as a look out and sniper position, and maybe three dozen guys total running around. More than enough to get the element of surprise and sneak around unnoticed with the help of heavy duty signal jammers, but not organized enough to have anywhere to keep prisoners but tied up in the open air. Hell they hadn’t even taken their armor yet, which just goes to show what happens when you don’t plan for every contingency and have to try and ring up Control whenever something happens. That was going to take a while because they had to send a runner back and forth out of the fuzz zone to relay messages. 

If Simmons had been running this show they would have been  _ prepared.  _ Prisoners drop into your lap? Get them out of armor, have scouts at points surrounding the jamming effect to get the message out faster, and once the already established code phrase had been recognized quickly get them to a more secure location for torture and ransom. That was just common sense!

… and now the distraction had lead Simmons right back to torture. Great.

“Goddammit brain this is not the time,” Simmons muttered. “… Actually I guess this is sort of the time? But it doesn’t help when I can’t do anything!”

“Cheer up Simmons, I’m sure it’ll all work out soon. Like I always say, Red team can take anything, no matter how rough it gets!”

“Okay, if we’re gonna die I wanna die knowing. Donut do you-“

Simmons never got all the way through the question. 

**BOOM**

One of the warthogs (not their own, Simmons noted in shock) got blown sideways like some giant had punted it into the cliff side, pockmarked and bent even before it hit. It hung there in the rock for a solid second and then

**_BOOM!_ **

The warthog exploded into fucking smithereens. 

Simmons blinked. He tried to process what had just happened, but his brain sputtered at the impossible workload before it and walked out. His body, never much good without direction, left Simmons staring at the crater when the pirates started shooting in the opposite direction. 

“They weren’t alone! The prisoners weren’t alone!”

“NO SHIT SHERLOCK KEEP SHOOTING!”

_ Fuck you Watson,  _ Simmons thought. Damn he’d been waiting for a chance to use that one on Grif for years.

Wait. Grif. There’s no way they could have gotten back up here by now. It should be just Grif and Sarge. 

“Oh. My.  _ Goodness,” _ Donut said, a smile in his voice.

That much data got Simmons’ brain back into the office, begrudgingly. Simmons turned to look at what was going on. 

The pirates were firing wildly at what appeared to be a tank on legs running full tilt towards the camp. About six meters tall, four arms, armored, obviously a fusion, but Simmons had never seen this one before. In the fusions arms there was… a shotgun with a blade on the stock.

No fucking way.

“Ha! You pirates go down like tortilla chips! Not even the good kind! No salsa! At least put up some kind of fight, like  _ spicy  _ chips!”

Two and two finally got put together.

“SARGE?!  _ GRIF?!” _

“Garge!” Donut crowed, “I knew we’d get rescued!” 

Garge didn’t hear them, a little preoccupied by the pirates shooting at him. He made a big target, and if one of them got a shot in a place that hurt the fusion could destabilize. Garge swept aside the pirates dumb enough to get close with an almost dismissive kick, then spotted the pirates going for the turret. 

“Heh. Now that was almost smart.”

Garge took casual aim with his shot-brute or Grif-gun or whatever the fuck and pulled the trigger. The pirate and the gun both got shredded by pellets the size of Simmons’ fist. Just as the pirate started to fall over dead the entire thing exploded in a cascade, a grenade sized blast for each individual pellet. 

_ It’s a shotgun. That fires hundreds of mini-grenades. What is it with Sarge fusions and fucking insane weapons?  _ Simmons wondered in quiet shock. 

The pirates scattered in confusion and disorder (the lack of discipline was horrific) and Garge casually sauntered over to Red team with a huge-ass grin on his face. 

“Well look at what we’ve got here! A lot of ugly damsels all ready for the gallant rescue, and the fusion arriving just in the nick of time. Now what does that make me?”

“A big damn hero, sir,” Simmons said. Even if it wasn’t something like 50% Sarge, you can’t leave a quote like that hanging.

“Ain’t we just?” Garge smiled wider than he’d ever heard either Grif or Sarge do on their own, and Simmons had literally no idea what to do with the implications of that. His brain was still working on the ‘Grif and Sarge can fuse at all’ revelation. 

“We’d better get movin’, just cause I kicked their keisters into next week doesn’t mean they won’t try for a re-match.”

The sharp end of Garge’s weapon cut through their zip ties with minimal effort, and within moments Simmons was rubbing circulation back into his hands. 

“Aw man, they messed up my manicure! This is gonna take some serious work to fix too, I hope I don’t deplete my stock! The things I have to do to get proper nail care products-!”

“ _ Incluso si quisiera escuchar sobre esto, que nunca lo haré, este no es el momento. _ (Even if I wanted to hear about this, which I never will, this is not the time.)”

“You’ve got a point Lopez, the results are always worth it in the end!”

Simmons looked up at Garge. “How are we getting out of here, sir?”

Garge preened at being called Sir, and Simmons had a suspicion he was going to get some shit for that later. 

“You all get in the Warthog while I take care of some business real quick.”

While everyone piled into the car, Simmons heard the distinct sounds of the jamming equipment being stomped on, shot, and then exploding. It was a pretty satisfying sound. 

“Now let’s get out of this dump.”

“You said it, sir.”

\---

Riding the high of a fight well won and enough material to make Simmons squirm for weeks to come, Garge was more than happy to stay together and walk alongside the warthog.

Donut broke the silence first. “Can I just say, you guys were awesome!”

Garge smiled some more. “You can say it all you like, Donut. In fact, think you could repeat that so I can get it recorded for later?”

“Sure! You guys were AWESOME! Seeing you blow up those guys, and kick those other guys, really pounding them into the ground, that was pretty inspiring!”

Simmons rolled his eyes and he could see the air coming out of Garge’s enthusiasm in the face of Donut brand chatter.

“Er… yeah!”

“Your fusion is so stable too… Sarge and Grif must have a lot more in common that we thought, huh?”

Aaaaand that did it. Garge froze midstep, his disgust so visible in practically projected through his helmet, and with a bright flash the bubble popped. Grif and Sarge were on their backs some feet away from each other, but in the same moment they sat up and screamed, with utter conviction “Me and him have nothing in common! At all!”

A pause. “Jinx,” Simmons muttered.

“You can’t jinx someone else,” Grif said.

“You can’t jinx a superior officer!” Sarge said, “That’s insubordination, on top of blatantly ignoring the long held rules and traditions of proper jinxing!”

Simmons sighed, but in a fond sort of way. Nice to know whatever that fusion said about Sarge and Grif, it hadn’t changed much. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a million years ago on a lark, and I was inspired to dig is back up by Prim's _excellent_ fic Mixed Colors! Y'all should check it out, it's rad. 
> 
> In this AU, fusion is future technology Freelancer was using sim troopers as human guinea pigs/canaries, and it works by a chip in their implants _-long extended mouth fart_ And that's how the fusions happen!


End file.
